


And What of Dreams?

by IreneClaire



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Steve McGarrett, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Danny, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneClaire/pseuds/IreneClaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny runs himself down worrying about his son, Charlie, and immersing himself in the job. Hopefully a short but serious bromantic run without too much plot. Focus on Steve and Danny shored up at Steve's house during a hurricane. Bromance. Sick Danny. Nurse-maid Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KomodoQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomodoQueen/gifts).



> I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

He knew he wasn't well. In fact, he hadn't been well for a very long time. The only difference now was that his body was joining in on the party by proving its resentment to the ongoing strain being inflicted upon it. Owlishly blinking at the paperwork he held in his hands, Danny finally let the folder sink to his lap. He closed his eyes, immune to the clap of thunder and the strength of the wind and rain which pounded Steve's house. Exhausted and feverish, he could barely focus on the case work, let alone care about the hurricane thundering outside.

"Danny." He heard Steve and didn't answer. Instead, he rubbed his eyes until his vision sparkled, a sick chill momentarily shaking him down to his bones. With his son so grievously ill, yet looking so very normal, it was ironic really. He tried to hide the juddering clenching of his muscles and failed miserably when he heard Steve's aggravated sigh.

"Take a break." Danny made a face, his aching head resting against the pillows he'd shoved behind him in an attempt to get comfortable on Steve's sofa. His mind wandered again to just the prior day and a meeting he'd had with the doctors. Charlie would be facing more tests in four days time; tests wisely postponed because of the fickle storm which had overtaken the Hawaiian islands. It wasn't fair. None of it. Nothing had been fair from the time his son had been no more than a starry-eyed wish to the advent of an unexpected hurricane which seemed to prevent potentially critical care from continuing.

"I'm serious, Danny. Take a break; you look like shit." He nodded as Steve's voice boomed from the opposite side of the room, eyes closed, his fingers allowing whatever remaining papers he still held to fall slowly to his lap. Tired, he didn't even try to open his eyes or voice a rely. He didn't have the energy to argue. It was true that he wanted to sleep but his brain was was obstinate in its obsession.

"He's going to be fine," Steve said. "He's got the best doctors and they know what they're doing. You've got to trust in that or you'll drive yourself crazy." His voice was closer now and Danny felt the dark shadow loom over him. "Try to get some rest, Danno. No one's going anywhere tonight until this weather blows over." The file folder and any loose papers were gathered up from his lap. The sound was soft, subtle, and spelled the absolute end to his ongoing penchant for distraction and even for self abuse.

He did shirk away though when Steve's hand fell on his forehead, its coolness easily conflicting with that of his own fevered heat. Another shiver ran through his bones as if his skin craved to be soothed and he fought a new feeling of nausea that suddenly toyed with his stomach. He cursed himself while swallowing hard to combat a rusty-throated cough. Charlie didn't look sick; never acted sick. Ironic was an understatement.

"Damn it, Danny," Steve complained, his hand following the slow disagreeable toss of Danny's head. "What the hell are you trying to do to yourself? You've got to stop this ... you're not going to be good for anyone ... least of all Charlie if you run yourself into the ground!"

Danny moaned a reply which managed to convey all his desperate sadness into one low monotonous sound. Steve was right of course. The freakish storm had been well documented by the weather service and people had been preparing for days. If Charlie's doctors had truly felt their plans threatened, they certainly would have moved the appointments up and made other care arrangements. Danny knew that because that had been the point of the prior day's meeting at the hospital. He had to respect that. He could trust the decisions. They all even had made sense as he and his ex-wife sat together in the large, comfortable office absorbing sage medical advice, nodding like a pair of stupid lemmings. However, as a father, he simply couldn't so easily cope with what was so badly out of his control when it came to his little boy.

"It's not fair," he murmured quietly. "So ... so not fair. He's just a little guy."

"I know," Steve replied. There was nothing else to say. He moved Danny's legs aside so he could sit on the edge of the sofa while he studied his friend's face. Nothing had been fair, but Danny was only making things more difficult by obsessing, worrying and running himself into the ground. He was sick now. Thoroughly and utterly run down to such a degree that a simple sneeze had now morphed into something more akin to the flu.

 _Shit_. Steve winced as he realized something else. If Danny was indeed this sick and spiking a fever, he might very well be denied being able to see Charlie or be with him for his coming appointments. The doctors would never risk allowing the boy near anyone so ill.

His frown deepened and he looked at the ceiling when the lights in his house dimmed, the brown out lasting much longer than the one before. The wind increased at the same time, the rain cascading against the house in near deafening sheets of sound. They were bound to lose electricity as a thunder cracked overhead and the lights flickered wildly. Steve sat quietly on the edge of the sofa, unmoving and unconcerned about the weather in general. He was more than prepared with extra food stuffs, batteries and camping lanterns. The storm was the farthest problem from his mind. In fact, as his eyes fell back to Danny's face, maybe the storm was a blessing in disguise. An imposed period where he could quite literally focus on making Danny rest and getting him back on his feet.

Steve chuffed an odd noise in his throat as he watched Danny partially roll away from him and onto his side to burrow into the cushions. He had his arms wrapped over his chest as another chill rippled through his chest. Not needing to say anything, Steve tugged the spare blanket from where it had been folded on the back of the sofa and draped it over his friend's upper body.

He stood up in one easy motion, Danny now unmoving as he fell into a real doze. Seriously worried about what the next few hours might mean for his friend, Steve walked to the window, the hairs on the back of his neck on end when a flash of lightening lit up the entire lanai, showcasing the dramatic bend of the wind-whipped palms in his yard. A series of ominous flashes further illuminated the rolling black clouds in the night sky, proving that the storm was just as resolute about its own intensity.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	2. Chapter 2

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

" _Daddy_."

Charlie's voice echoed through the broken walls of his stressed imagination which was nothing more than a swirl of color and badly disjointed images. Stuck on the fringes of waking, Danny jolted where he lay on the sofa, half aware that Charlie ... here ... was just a fragment of a dream. But another part craved to stay inside his head no matter how disturbing the dream threatened to become. When another thick black form began to solidify into someone recognizable, Danny mumbled unintelligibly, brow furrowed in distress, a leg shifting under a blanket, and his already raspy breath noticeably altering.

" _Danno_." Charlie was crying now. Heart-wrenching sobs, arms pumping wildly. Nothing more than a blue swaddled blur held high in Stan Edward's arms. Too young to talk, yet he was as he reached out for Danny, his confused eyes of a startling clarity as they met his own. " _Danno_!"

He woke as Charlie inconceivably _fell_ , coughing raggedly into the back of the sofa, his throat just as prickly as before and feeling no better. The dream was fading too fast, leaving him only with an unsettling memory of fear and helplessness. Without needing to move too much, he peered a bit over his shoulder, able to see that the room was nearly pitch dark except for a soft yellow-ish glow. Based on the rattle of the windows and general whine around the eaves, he could also tell that the storm was still raging outside. He didn't know where Steve was and lacked the immediate wherewithal to seek him out.

Not much had improved, in fact he felt worse. So he closed his eyes again, unable to find a welcoming cool spot on his pillow as the last dregs of the dream come nightmare flew away. Fighting the urge to swallow, he squirreled his shoulders down deeper and tried to go back to sleep, his fingers clamped around the edges of the blanket which Steve had covered him with. He tried hard but two things forced him to move, one a very personal need definitely more urgent than the other.

Resenting every move he made, Danny wearily untangled his legs from the blanket in order to crawl himself into a seated position. Poised on the edge of the sofa and shivering, he swayed in place feeling decidedly weak and off center from the rest of his immediate world. Breathing carefully through his mouth, he dimly realized that the lack of light was a blessing in disguise because of a dull quaking throb inside his head. He could see just enough thanks to the pleasant glow from strategically placed battery-operated campfire lanterns. Barring the storm, the room was relatively quiet, and for a moment those sounds of wind, pelting rain and thunder were all he heard until a few odd metallic clanks rang out from the direction of the kitchen. He could barely think, readily accepting instead what the noises meant which only gave credence to that second thing which he'd sensed upon waking. The scent of food cooking; maybe even soup and he sniffed cautiously through a somewhat deadened nose, his stomach giving a confused, plaintive ping at the concept of food.

Trying to negotiate with his first urges, Danny sat there for a long while, contemplating if he really had to take care of himself in the bathroom despite what his body was demanding as an ever-increasing need. He had no choice in the end as he resolutely readied himself to stand.

"Fine," he mumbled hoarsely in disgust, promptly coughing into his hand. His internal argument was also weak as he fuzzily calculated the distance from where he was sitting to the downstairs bathroom, wondering if the general wooziness in his head would give him nothing more than a spectacular excuse for a face-plant into Steve's hardwood floor. There was no doubt though about what he needed to do and he bemoaned his achy misery as he shakily stumbled to his feet. Shivering from chill after chill, yet too sick to even pull the blanket back around his shoulders, Danny wobbled in place between sofa and coffee table.

"Good. You're up," Steve said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. "You should try to eat something. Soup. I made soup ... a broth really." He stared hard at Danny's hunched posture and then studied his complexion, the sickly sheen of his face making him appear even more sallow in the partial shadows cast by the battery-powered light. He frowned when he stepped closer and got a better look at his friend. If he didn't know better, it looked as if Danny had been crying and Steve hesitated before needing to ask.

"Danny? You okay, buddy?"

"Yeah," Danny rasped tightly. Steve's silhouette was back-lit by whatever other camping lanterns he'd used in the kitchen and Danny blinked at him blearily. He knew that Steve could easily see him and read that something more was wrong. But the dream was gone and there was no point in discussing something which he'd woefully fail at describing.

"Yeah, I'm good,' Danny lied. A sickly nod having to serve as his only method of further acknowledgement.

Steve clenched his jaw tightly shut to avoid saying more. Instead, he met Danny less than halfway on his short journey to steady an elbow, ready to be defensive if met with rejection. But nothing happened. Not a single word or sound of objection passed Danny's lips. An unhealthy heat was radiating off his friend like a furnace and if anything, Danny seemed to lean into him more. The only sound which Danny did make was a sarcastic noise of self-reproach when he automatically thumbed the light switch in the bathroom despite the fact that there was an obvious power failure and that Steve had already placed two more camping lanterns on the floor.

The next few things all happened in slow motion. Inhaling sharply through his nose when Danny gently pulled away from him, Steve backed up as the door swung closed in his face. He'd been soundlessly thanked and then summarily dismissed. He stayed in the hallway though, fidgeting and on edge. His ears trained for any sign of a problem or murmur for help.

"Okay?" Steve softly asked when the door slowly opened minutes later. "Ready to try and eat?" Danny's face and the fringes of his hair were damp from the dousing he'd given himself in the sink. Rivulets of water still ran down his neck from the half-assed attempt to cool his over-heated skin. Again, he only nodded in reply, seemingly unsurprised by Steve's unshakable attention and once more silent about receiving physical support as he tottered dangerously back down the hallway.

In the dimly lit kitchen, Danny stared dumbly at the glass of water and steaming bowl of amber-colored broth. His fingers were draped over the spoon when he finally leaned forward, the cough rumbling in his chest at the same time Mother Nature offered the same loudly audible objection outside. He glanced up at Steve where he leaned almost too casually against the counter. Distrustful of his voice, Danny nodded again before committing himself to the bowl, knowing that an arsenal of over-the-counter medicines were on his near horizon and that he needed something in his system to avoid a worse traitorous response.

Much to Steve's delight, he managed it all, too. The broth which stung his throat at first, the small offering of dry crackers which got pasty in his mouth, and then downed more than half the glass of water along with the acetaminophen and cough medicine which he'd guessed would be coming. By the time he was done, he wasn't even that cold anymore. His stomach had ceased with its mild complaints and he was now feeling almost too warm. Most of the chills had miraculously departed, too. However, his head was thumping heavily to his heartbeat, his eyes were nothing more than two burning holes in their sockets, and his energy officially sapped. He needed to lay down with a desperation which only a body-wide illness could demand.

"Need to lay down," Danny muttered aloud, relieved that his throat even seemed less sore and that no cough threatened on the heels of his short statement. With thoughts of retreating back to his place on the sofa, he aimed himself in that general direction and nearly fell over his own two feet, only Steve's quick thinking preventing the tumble.

Directed by Steve's guiding hands, Danny sank down as soon as the backs of his knees connected with the sofa. "Weather report?" He murmured as he leaned back into a generously fluffed mound of pillows, his eyes sparkling brightly from fever while he stared up into Steve's face.

"No change," Steve offered in reply. "The reports were spot on this time ... power went out about three hours ago; around the time you first fell asleep. We're still good and you ... you still need to get well."

Unable to sleep, Steve had been alternating between an obsessive need to check on Danny while he slept and monitoring NOAA's reports each hour on his commercial weather radio. What he'd been learning quickly, at least when it came to the weather, was that there was really no need to listen more frequently to NOAA. And, as long as the storm didn't worsen, Steve remained on a fairly even keel in that regard, too. But Danny was another story entirely and he had to fight to keep his face passively calm as he measured the noticeable weight of the very un-Danny-like dwindling of spirit.

"What's going to happen?" Danny suddenly asked. His eyes glistening with more than fever as he stammered over his words, tears choking his voice. "To Charlie ... and me? I can't see him like this ... the doctors ... he barely knows me now. I need to be there ... Steve. I can't miss any of these appointments; I've missed too much already with him. Why the hell did I get sick now? Why ... now?"

Steve winced, any hopes of remaining passive dashed in an instant. The questions were entirely rhetorical, yet he'd hoped Danny wouldn't realize that fact about being with Charlie so early on and Steve clearly should have known better. With an aggrieved sigh, Steve found just enough space to sit next to Danny.

"It'll be okay," he whispered lamely as he tucked the blanket over his friend's chest. "It will ... things have a way of working out."

"Do they?" Danny muttered as if giving more credence to Steve's private thoughts before he seemed to switch to a different gear. "Sorry ... Steve, for this." His eyes closed before he finished offering the oddly timed apology; the usual verve and vigor snuffed by fever. But then, his eyes flew open with a momentary flare of a more typical stubbornness and Steve found a fond smile.

"What? Why, Danno?" Steve asked in all honesty. "What are you sorry about?"

"Me," Danny rasped, blinking wildly as he forced his vision to focus back on Steve's face. "Sick ... and all. The case, too ... been no help."

"The case? Seriously, Danny?" Steve objected in surprise. "I could care less about the case!" Of all things, he'd never guessed an apology for something which his partner certainly never shirked his responsibility over.

"You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about because all of this will work out," he whispered with a sincere smile, voicing his plan as an adamant order of sorts. "You're run down like I said before, Danny. You're going to take this storm as mandatory downtime and focus on getting better. Case be damned. This thing will run its course well before Charlie's first test and you'll be there for him. Especially if you stay off your feet and just sleep."

He waited Danny out until he got a faint agreeable nod before his glassy eyes slid closed for good. Then Steve sat there longer, once more balanced on the side of his own sofa until he was sure that his friend had fallen into a quiet sleep.

**_~ to be continued ~_ **


	3. Chapter 3

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny lay there for a long time just listening. On his side and staring at the back of the sofa, he lay there completely still, recognizing the storm for what it was, but not the murmurs of voices in the background. There weren't any words he could specifically make out, yet he tried to hear what they were saying. The combination of wind and what he would swear were human voices merged together, fluctuating and then waning to near inaudible tones.

A loud, woody crack echoed in from the yard and he held his breath, listening harder and fighting an urge to cough. He was sure that someone was there now. Maybe even more than one person as a tell-tale creak sounded from above his head.

 _Footsteps_.

He narrowed his eyes as he glared at the ceiling, the unmoving shadows cast by the lanterns far from soothing now. As lightning briefly lit the room and thunder boomed overhead, he heard it again. The gentle rap and slide of a booted foot and now certain of a threat, he purposefully rolled off the sofa, taking blankets and pillows with him. Danny stayed low there, hunkered down with his eyes trained on the staircase.

"Steve?" Danny rasped softly. His hand automatically went for his weapon when he didn't receive a reply and he was stunned to find that he was unarmed. Not only unarmed, but woefully unprepared in every way for an altercation as another scraping sound of a booted heel shuffled through the thin plaster of the ceiling.

 _Where the hell was their backup?_ Better yet, _where the hell was his partner?_

Virtually on his hands and knees, Danny edged forward carefully to clear the room he was in. There was no sign of his partner as he checked every nook and cranny, cautiously working to clear the first floor and looking for a weapon of any kind before attempting the flight of stairs to the second level.

"Steve?" He whispered again, his voice harsh and almost too loud in the general quiet of the building. Outside, lightning flashed ominously and Danny paused before moving more quickly, whatever sounds he made easily falling within the partnering rumbles of thunder. He found what he was looking for in the next room and grinned in satisfaction as he hefted the perfectly balanced black handle in his hand. Balanced on his bare toes on the tiled floor, he gently thumbed its edge. The knife was impressive and well kept, the blade sturdy and honed to a fine sharpness. While he certainly didn't prefer hand-to-hand combat, he now had no qualms about challenging whomever had his partner.

Danny frowned though, a premonition of wrong tickling his thoughts and for a moment, he lowered the knife. He breathed in heavily as he tried to think, a rattle in his chest audible as he tamped down a series of congested coughs.

_Was this right? Was he right about what was happening?_

He murmured his doubts under his breath, jolted back to an awareness when he heard the shuffle-scrape again. This time, it was louder and just outside the room he was in. The whisper of a voice reached him at the same time and he inhaled sharply in surprise. With an attacker so close, he didn't have time to doubt his instincts. Determined now, he gazed at the spine of the knife before he purposefully pressed its tip into the fleshy part of his palm. With an incredible ease of will, he pressed down even harder, the skin drawing tightly together into a small divot. He twisted the tip just so, the center finally completely pierced, a drop of blood welling instantly to the surface. Then, in slow motion, he dragged the sharp edge carefully along his skin from base of thumb, across his palm, ending just at the lowest part below his pinky finger. He was completely detached as he ran the razor-sharp edge along his palm, slicing through his skin like a hot knife through butter. He wanted to prove to himself that he was awake, yet he didn't feel anything. He didn't even flinch. Nothing happened until a moment later, a tear drop of moisture appeared, its red muted by the light. But the subsequent stripe of blood soon worsened and Danny stared at his ruined hand, seemingly in awe by what he'd done.

But he couldn't wait to wonder more. He needed to act. He heard the voices again just as he was poised to make his way from the room, back to where he'd begun, that vantage being the best thus far to gauge the upper level. Danny growled softly under his breath and backed up instead, angry about accidentally cornering himself in what could be a no win situation. He stayed low, a bloody thumb switching off his flashlight that he hadn't even realized he'd put down on the floor next to his left heel. Plunged into relative darkness, he stayed crouched low while he waited, his fevered eyes glittering as he held the knife at chest height.

The murky outline of a figure suddenly appeared only a few feet away from where he was hidden. It had rounded the corner to the room silently and with such stealth, Danny was momentarily taken aback. Broad and skulking, it took an even longer moment for him to realize that he was seeing a man. A _man_ who was most definitely hunting him as he, too, froze in place before taking two hesitant steps away.

"Back off," Danny muttered hoarsely, his eyes narrowing in warning while he maintained a defensive posture. "Where is he … where did you take him?" He stammered though as his traitorous mind chimed in the background. Something about what he was doing was _wrong_. There was something familiar about the man's silhouette and Danny shook his head, unable to clear his vision enough to really see. He was tired, dizzy and driven by an adrenalin fueled by a fever's confusion and he didn't dare stop. He couldn't simply … stop.

He snarled softly at the man when another scraping sound of a booted heel shuffled from the second floor. This man wasn't alone and the threat was clear. Danny's anger grew as his attacker remained as low as he, shielded by a grayish haze which allowed him to weave and bob just out of his reach. A sound reached Danny's ears and he cocked his head in disbelief, his eyes now trained on where the man's mouth should be. While the words were muffled and even drowned out by the storm which howled outside, he was _talking to him_. His tone low and determined, demanding that he put his weapon down.

With nowhere to go and resolute, Danny stayed exactly where he was. He brandished the knife threateningly towards his attacker, knowing then that he'd have to defend himself before he'd have any hope in rescuing Steve. As a final trill of doubt whispered through his addled mind, Danny dove forward, slashing with purpose. Satisfied when he heard the shout of pain and felt the jarred concussive recoil through his wrist.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	4. Chapter 4

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Hey, hey, hey," Steve soothed softly, hands raised and his body in a wary half-crouch. "It's just me; it's only me … come on, buddy, snap out of it." His voice was drowned out though by a loud clap of thunder and a gust of wind which rattled the house down to its very foundation. Thick branches of those trees closest to the house slapped angrily against the windows and clapboard siding. A shutter had torn partially loose from his second floor bedroom window and it flapped clumsily in a discordant noise, its warped hinges squeaking relentlessly while buffed by the sustained ninety-seven mile per hour winds. The storm raged on and he'd been upstairs listening to the latest NOAA reports, surprised to find Danny missing from the warm confines of the sofa. Now stunned to find him hunkered down in the kitchen, fevered and looking lost.

Things were bad outside, yet so much more had gone inexplicably sideways indoors.

"Danny, it's me." Steve tried again. "Danny. It's only me. It's Steve." He kept his hands visible the entire time he waited for his friend to either recognize him or provide him with an opening. He needed something because Danny was wide-eyed and frantic, and definitely unable to snap out of anything, a steak knife raised high in his hand. The biggest and very sharpest which Steve kept in the butcher block.

He watched warily as Danny, barefoot and clad only in a pair of baggy sweatpants, backed himself into a corner of the kitchen. He wedged himself tightly there, trembling from head to toe from fever, the knife firmly in hand and its blade reflecting the golden hue cast by a single lantern. His mouth was moving as if he were talking, but Steve couldn't make any sense of his repetitive, nonsensical murmurs. None of it made sense. However, Steve knew he could cope with Danny's fevered confusion, but what he couldn't deal with at that very moment was the weapon.

"Danny?" He grimaced worriedly as Danny intentionally lowered the blade. Not because he heard or recognized Steve, but because he clearly didn't. Breathing raggedly through his mouth as he aimed downwards, Danny poked the tip of the knife into the fleshy part of his palm before dragging it along his skin. Seemingly enthralled by what he was doing and oblivious to Steve's existence, he never uttered a sound as he ran the razor sharp edge along his palm, cutting deeply.

" _Danny_!" Steve whistled his name through clenched teeth, uncertain of what to do as his friend simply stared at the volume of blood beginning to stain his hand. As more pooled in his palm to then begin a haphazard run down his wrist, Steve raised his voice in shock, loud enough to finally get a reaction. Though scarcely a heartbeat later, Steve realized it was the wrong one as Danny's face turned to stone.

" _Shit_. Shit, _Danny_! What the hell are you doing?" Steve heard the guttural warning just as Danny paused, his head tilted to the side and his gaze finally aimed directly his way. "Calm down ... put the damned knife down, Danny! Just ... please ... talk to me. Tell me what's wrong!"

Instead of obeying, Danny edged even deeper on his haunches into the lower edge of the cabinets. Droplets of blood fell to the floor and still he didn't respond. He did nothing more than reach for the battery operated camping lantern to switch it off as if that simple act would provide him even more protection. But Steve could still see him. He could still see the defensive stance and the sparkle of the knife as his friend hefted it in his right hand. Low and staying balanced on his bare toes, Steve watched Danny finally take notice of _him_.

Shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, Steve similarly stayed low and somewhat distant from his partner as he tried to determine his next steps until Danny actually spoke.

"Back off," Danny ground out. His voice was wrecked by exhaustion and fever, his eyes full of anger and mistrust. "Where is he … where did you take him?"

"Who?" Steve asked carefully. "Me? Charlie? Who are you looking for Danno? Can you tell me? Can you put the knife down and just tell me what you need? Tell me who you're looking for and I'll help. I'll help you find him."

Instead of getting an understandable answer though, Steve wound up holding his breath as a gust of wind tore into the easterly side of his house. The windows rattled threateningly and upstairs, there was a startling sound of wood splintering in two. An overwhelming loud scrape and crack as the already broken shutter was ripped from its twisted hinges. The noise captured Danny's attention and he paused again, his eyes glittering in the limited light as he seemed to search Steve's face.

"It's the storm," Steve offered as explanation when Danny's face hardened even more. He paused as realization dawned about what the cacophony of sounds could appear to be as his partner stayed suspiciously on edge and guarded. "It's only the wind outside; the storm's bad now and at its height. So, Danny, give me the knife. Put that damned thing down; there's no danger. Nothing's wrong buddy."

Steve saw the sign which spelled a pending disaster a fraction too late. The cocky set of his partner's chin was the only signal which Steve belatedly read just as Danny launched himself to strike. The knife flashed through the air much faster than Steve ever anticipated and he countered the attack poorly, given no time to parry Danny's second attempt even when the pointy tip of the knife embedded itself in the doorway's molding. He thought he'd been ready for anything and then he'd greatly misjudged his partner's abilities, let alone his intent.

" _God dammit_. Just ... what the hell! Danny!" Steve's t-shirt was now torn from the bottom hem on a ragged diagonal which ran high to low across his abdomen and he hissed in pain from the resultant knife wound. Not nearly as long as the rent in his shirt, the slice was far from mortal yet significant enough proven by an obvious warmth which leaked persistently into the top of his jeans. There was no time though as Danny recovered some equilibrium. Forced to react, Steve grappled for the knife's hilt, both he and Danny sprawling on the kitchen floor, their hands scrambling for possession, one over the other.

Unbelievably it was Danny who maintained control with Steve nearly at the disadvantage until he simply resorted to wrapping himself around his partner's body. From there, he struggled to own Danny's wrists in order to keep the weapon literally at arm's length.

"Drop the knife," Steve ordered. "Drop it ... Danny. Drop it now." With his muscles shaking from adrenalin, Steve cursed in resentment as he tightened the bear hug he had secured around Danny's upper body. Still awkwardly at odds with each other, Danny continued to astound him by managing to maintain a death grip on the steak knife though. Steve simply couldn't get the weapon away from him. Even stricken by illness, Danny was tenacious as he channeled all his waning strength into breaking free.

"Stop," Steve shouted breathlessly as his fingers almost slipped due to the slick of blood and sweat. " _Stop it_ and just listen to me! Danny! It's me!" Tucking him firmly into his chest, Steve took the risk at grabbing solely for Danny's dominant wrist, his fingers mercilessly digging in to tighten around the joint before brutally ramming Danny's knuckles into the floor. There was a hiss of pain but Danny refused to give in, his hold still determined and Steve cursed his luck.

"Fuck, Danny! Let go. Drop it …. drop the _God-damned_ knife!" He demanded, his own anger and frustration getting the best of him as he was forced to hurt his partner for a second and then a third time, the knife finally falling free when Danny's nerveless fingers spasmed open. Wrapped up in his arms, Danny continued to object though, the sound of his struggle filling the kitchen until his head finally sagged down and the violent tremble of weakened muscles was all that remained.

With incredible care, Steve released Danny's wrist long enough to toss the knife high onto the kitchen table. His own hands were shaking badly and his abdomen burned from the wound he'd sustained. But then there was the issue of Danny's own self-inflicted cut and the fever which he literally could feel as its heat soaked into his own body. Using his upper arm to wipe sweat from his face, Steve looked over Danny's shoulder measuring the amount of blood on his friend's left hand and wondering what he was going to do for the both of them as the hurricane worsened to a record-breaking level of violence.

There'd be no emergency services available and he didn't dare attempt a drive to the hospital. Fever-wracked and finally quieting, Danny was more ill than either of them had imagined; more incredible to him, Steve was still stunned to the core by his own condition as his tattered shirt clung painfully to the sticky wetness of his torn skin. Everything had indeed gone sideways and for the next few hours, he had very limited options. He wasn't sure there was much he could do, but he certainly couldn't keep them both on the floor of his now blood-stained kitchen.

He chose to ignore the added strain on his side as he pulled Danny backwards into his lap. Leg's splayed wide and with only one arm wrapped around his partner, Steve hyper-extended his upper body as he reached over his head for the spare dish towel near the stove. Limp and falling under his chin, Danny followed his motions like a rag-doll, simply going along for the ride.

"Here," Steve uselessly muttered as he righted himself and repositioned Danny up against his chest. "Let me see your hand."

He propped Danny's left hand up on his knee then, not entirely relieved at all that his friend was only partially aware, eyes hooded and his gaze downcast. Steve wrapped the towel around the nasty cut, tying it tightly until he could retrieve the medical kit from the bathroom for a better dressing. He'd worry about himself later, too. Because despite their dual knife wounds, he was in a more desperate race to get Danny's high temperature down.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	5. Chapter 5

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and then carted along, only helping just enough. The man had overpowered him in the end, but only after Danny had made an impression. At least there was that to buoy his spirits. But now, with strong fingers firmly anchored to his left wrist as if to protect his wounded hand, and an arm wrapped securely around his back as if to carry his weight, the man apparently had a plan in mind as they stumbled along together. But Danny had one, too. His secret agenda was twofold in playing possum. First, he was purely exhausted and needed the luxury of time to regain his strength. Second, if he no longer could surprise his quarry, being brought to Steve was the next best option.

They didn't travel far, just to another room as dimly lit as the rest of the place where he was made to sit, one of the man's hands briefly keeping contact on his shoulder as if to kindly hold him up on the edge of what Danny guessed was a stool. But Danny knew better; there was no kindness here, merely a lull before their next violent match. There was a window to the right of where he was sitting, too. Partly opened, the sounds of the storm were deafeningly loud in his ears. Without a shirt, Danny shivered uncontrollably when a cold wind sneaked in through the two inch gap in the lintel and he coughed, his breath hitching painfully in his chest.

He was in trouble as he softly cursed his ongoing weakness. Truth be told, he couldn't seem to catch his breath or find the wherewithal to garner any reserves of energy. He continued to have difficulty focusing his eyes and so, he allowed them to close, promising himself that it would only be for a second or two. However, even when his captor stepped a few feet away, he still couldn't find the energy to take an advantage.

But he needed to find Steve and whomever this man was, he would certainly know. Danny had to bide his time and keep fighting through his fugue no matter the consequences. In an anger completely aimed at himself, he shook his head and forced his eyes back open to stare at the hazy outline of the man, making a fist so tight that his bruised knuckles turned a mottled white.

Keeping an eye on Danny while he sat on the lid to the toilet bowl, Steve awkwardly tossed all the clean towels he could reach to the floor nearest the shower enclosure. Danny hadn't said a single word, but Steve didn't trust the defiant tilt of his friend's head. Then there was the question of his right hand which slowly balled into a fist; his face suddenly lined in anger. If he hadn't been so downright worried about the circumstances of the misplaced anger, Steve might have been proud. But he didn't even dare smile as Danny glared up at him, his eyes fevered and barely tracking.

"Don't do it, Danno." Uncertain if Danny was listening or aware enough to hear him, Steve warned him softly as his posture stiffened. "Just sit there. Don't move."

Moving quickly in case Danny did try something, Steve kicked the towels into a pile and then turned the showers faucets on, fiddling until he found a mildly warm temperature. He worked fast, yanking off his boots and even tugging his ruined t -shirt over his head, his eyes still on Danny's face, chancing a look at the blood-streaked furrow across the left side of his abdomen.

"Damn," Steve murmured as he thumbed away some of the blood, wincing when he carefully parted the wound to test its depth, more blood immediately trickling out. "God dammit, Danny," he groused, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the unlikely injury. The pointy tip of the knife had snagged his skin, deep enough to maybe warrant a stitch or three towards its middle. Still, he'd have to pack it later for another priority. Caring for the wound would have to wait; much as would dressing Danny's injured hand as Steve did a double-take towards his friend. His moment of quietude was soon to be short-lived as Danny's expression abruptly changed to one of confusion.

"Hold on. Two minutes," Steve chuffed worriedly as Danny's eyes suddenly closed and his shoulders sagged. "Danny?" There was a murmur of sound, words which Steve couldn't quite hear and Danny literally swayed where he sat. He couldn't trust that Danny might have become miraculously lucid or guess if he might even be daring to play games again; he had to be prepared for anything. And regardless of what Danny could be stubbornly plotting inside his fevered mind, what Steve was about to do next would incur Danny's wrath on a good day.

"All right buddy. We're going to do this," Steve said quietly as he rechecked the water's temperature again.

Danny tried to rally as his captor occupied himself just a few feet away. He tried to come up with a plan and physically do something constructive as the man said something he didn't quite hear. But no matter how hard he tried, Danny couldn't help closing his eyes. A wave of exhaustion rippled through him so strong that he nearly did take a nose-dive from the stool. Only his captor's quick reactions kept him seated until he was pulled roughly to his feet, his eyes snapping open in surprise.

 _"I wish there was another way,"_ the man whispered in his ear. He sounded almost sincere as he dragged Danny forward.

"Wait," Danny broke his silence just before the shock of what happened next forced him to react. "Wait ... what is this?"

He was forced to stagger over a step, his bare feet slipping on a new surface which was unexpectedly slick and wet. Only then did he find the energy to object, any other plans gone from his mind in an instant. There was no battle for him to try and win though. This time, the man was ready for his every move, and strong arms wrapped around his upper body without apology as he was shoved forward.

"No!" Danny gasped out loudly when the first drops of water hit his face. "Stop ... I can't ... you can't ... do this!"

Blinking wildly in a vain attempt to see better, Danny found his nose just inches from a plain tiled wall. His wrists were being held in front of him, pinioned together and he had nowhere to go as sheets of water cascaded over his head, face and chest. He hissed in pain as the poor excuse for a bandage became instantly soaked through, the cut on his left hand reacting painfully in kind. His sweat pants absorbed the water like a sponge, heavily clinging to his legs and bunching up around his ankles. It all added to the overall feeling of being trapped and Danny's heart thundered inside his chest.

 _"We have to do this,"_ the man whispered again, his voice just over Danny's shoulder. _"We have to."_

Unsure of what he was hearing or why, Danny continued an ever-weakening struggle to break free, a sense of claustrophobia worsening as he accidentally inhaled a stream of water. He'd been pushed into an incredibly small and sterile space which he couldn't get out of. He shook his head desperately in denial while trying to avoid the man's free hand as it ran over his face and into his hair, pulling his head back while using the sheer size and breadth of his body to keep him in place. Over and over again, that single hand sluiced water from Danny's over-heated neck and chest before returning to his face, sometimes its fingers tangling within the saturated strands of his hair.

It was all wrong and didn't make any sense.

"No," Danny pleaded, a senseless panic on the rise as he tried to evade both the flow of water and his attacker. "Get ... off me ... what the hell ... are you doing?" He argued, fought and soon lost himself to panic as his feet slid out from underneath him. Overcome by confusion, Danny was now trembling uncontrollably, his knees weak and all sense of direction gone. He slipped on the wet surface time and again, saved only by the man who literally used his body to keep him upright. Shivering violently now, Danny eventually gave up the fight. Near to hyperventilating, he was clearly out of his element with both fear and illness merging into one terrifying whole.

" _Help. Steve ...,"_ he slurred plaintively, the murmur of sound scarcely audible as his eyes closed and he shut down for good. Overcome by exhaustion, he didn't even bother to find his feet as they slipped out from underneath him one last time.

"Easy, easy. I'm here, Danny," Steve crooned nonstop as he took Danny's full weight when he lost consciousness, his head lolling against his shoulder. "I'm sorry ... I'm so, _so_ sorry, buddy. But this is the only way."

He'd anticipated the fight and was impressed at the brief rally despite their mutual conditions. He held Danny under his arms now though, the tepid warmth of the shower soaking them both. He'd stay there for as long as possible. He'd stay there until the water turned too cold for his idea to be safe. But now, it was the only method he had at his disposal to bring Danny's temperature down. He held his partner up for as long as he could before slowly sinking to his knees, Danny slumped against his chest to gain full benefit from the cooling effects of the shower.

"I'm right here," Steve whispered as he finger-combed the wet strands of blonde hair over and over, willing the heat off his friend's face with every swipe of water. "I'm not going anywhere." Wracked with worry as Danny mumbled his name repeatedly, Steve wearily rested his forehead on the side of his temple. He closed his eyes against the spray of water, just focusing on the frightening heat of Danny's skin and the continued sporadic tremble.

"This will help," Steve promised softly as he diligently went back to carding streams of warm water from his friend's body. "It will ... this will help, Danny. Things will be okay."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	6. Chapter 6

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

It took some creative thinking and he managed to aggravate the sluggishly bleeding wound in the process, but Steve got the shower turned off and Danny wrapped in towels while still inside the bathroom. He only toweled himself off quickly before leaving Danny unattended to run upstairs for more towels, two changes of clothing, as well as for the medical kit which he'd kept in the master bath. Steve didn't worry too much about Danny wandering off by that point. He hadn't so much as twitched since collapsing thirty minutes earlier. But by touch alone, the fever seemed to have gone down despite the worrisome fact that Danny remained fairly unresponsive and as limp as a rag.

With an aggrieved sigh for himself, for Danny and their overall predicament, Steve bounced down to his knees when he returned to his friend's side. He toweled Danny off, then exchanged the first set of towels for new, creating a dryer bed of sorts before he removed the ruined sweat pants. He'd decided to keep Danny precisely where he was; though it might have seemed odd, Steve didn't see the point in lugging his unconscious partner back to the kitchen or even to the sofa. If he needed to cool him down again or, worse yet, manage any fevered temperamental issues, the bathroom was his safest bet on both counts.

Working quickly and efficiently, with an eye towards Danny should he rouse, Steve swapped the pants out for an over-sized pair of his own. Then, his next job was entirely focused on properly dressing Danny's hand, the volume of blood looking much worse now that water had soaked through the kitchen towel. Still uncertain as to why Danny might have done such a thing, Steve shook his head in abject confusion. Maybe Danny would tell him later, then again maybe he wouldn't even remember a single thing about what had gone down that night. It was a frustrating realization. Even frightening. Unable to prevent another worried sigh from passing his lips, Steve consoled himself that at least the wound wasn't too deep. He packed it well anyway, using gauze and then reams of white bandages.

Steve didn't want to accidentally overheat him, but he did drape Danny's upper body with one of his lighter-weight bath towels. Only then did he decide that he had the luxury of some time to cater to himself. He changed his clothes in the hallway, just outside the bathroom where he could continue to keep an eye on things. Peeling off wet jeans for something dry was a chore unto itself and with his adrenalin gone, Steve found himself tiring. He eased out of the t-shirt last, wincing at the sticky pull where the material clung to his skin. But then, the attention he was able to pay to his own wound became a source of calm as he bandaged the cut with gauze and a dressing which he taped into place. He felt better when he was done; in the bare minimum, he was in a better frame of mind.

"Hey? Danny, you awake?" Steve whispered, his head flying up when he heard a soft moan. He crouched down again, checking Danny's pulse and respiration, oddly pleased and yet unhappy when Danny seemed to simply fall into a deeper sleep.

"That's a good idea," he said quietly. He'd been used up and tossed to the curb by that point. Falling back with a dull thump, Steve leaned up against the wall and stretched his legs out to block the doorway. His eyes were closed before he even rocked his head comfortably into the corner. Less than a minute later, he too, was sleeping.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny opened his eyes to a darkened room and a plain looking ceiling. He didn't know what had happened or recognize where he was. Except for the storm outside, he heard nothing else. He shifted carefully before rolling onto his side, an unsettling feeling growing as he looked at what seemed to be the underside of pipes for a sink. He had a vague memory of a strong man and then remembered shattered snippets of a fight.

_A tiled room. Water. Another struggle. A feeling of being trapped ... threatened. Maybe even almost drowning._

Odd fragments tumbled through his mind and he almost chose to shove them to the side until he felt the deep throb of his hand. He sat up then, realizing that he still didn't feel well, yet enthralled at the sight of the thick white bandage. The wrap was neat and professional, with only a few spots of blood having absorbed through. He didn't remember. He wasn't sure what had happened. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it when the blurry shape just beyond the outline of his hand caught his eye.

He moved then, crawling forward the few feet on his knees to be sure. He allowed himself a quick grin; a sense of relief flooding through him down to his very toes.

"Steve?" Danny called softly. His voice cracked, broke and he swallowed hard at how parched he seemed to be. "Steven? Steve?" He stared hard at the bowed head and closed eyes. He saw a face that seemed pale and far too lax; suddenly afraid that Steve was unconscious or injured. Danny spied the outline of the taped bandage on his friend's side and shook his head, wondering and worried about what indeed had happened. Had they both been attacked then? Had Steve found him and taken care of whomever once had them ... or not? Regardless, how could they still be in this strange place which was both safe and yet ... felt so wrong?

Danny shivered from the cold and felt the sting of surprise when a loud crash of thunder echoed overhead. He remembered the true violence of the terrible storm then. Maybe they were biding their time for the storm to pass and for help to come? He didn't know for sure though as he searched Steve's face.

"Steve?" Danny tried again when Steve mumbled thickly under his breath. The ex-SEAL's waking was a slow process despite how on edge he'd been earlier. It wasn't like him to be so relaxed and Danny worried even more, thoughts of drugs now racing through his mind.

"Steve?" He pushed again, this time wrapping his fingers around Steve's right forearm. Something had certainly happened and Danny felt himself shivering uncontrollably as his body resented the short spurt of activity. He was cold, feeing sickish and now his hand hurt incessantly. Nonetheless for all these clues, not much spurred his memory to function more coherently.

Steve frowned before waking fully, unaccustomed to the hand on his arm or the call of his name. He had conveniently tuned out the storm for the white noise that it had become. His doze had become a deeper sleep and he was comfortable, quiet. However, as fingers tightened on his arm, he remembered in an instant. A sharp inhale echoed in the bathroom the second Steve jolted awake, stunned to find his partner balanced on his knees right in front of him.

"Danny!" Steve exclaimed. He was instantly alert and mentally evaluating what he saw of his partner's face, their mutual concern obvious. "What are you doing? What's wrong?"

"What's ... wrong?" Danny asked hesitantly. He blinked wildly, his mouth opening once more in soundless askance until he found his voice to stammer his bewilderment. He sagged backwards on his heels, shivering, his teeth almost clattering in his head as he motioned around their prison. "Seriously? Are _you_ okay ... you're hurt. Your side. The bandage."

"It's all right, Danny," Steve soothed as he sat up taller and forced Danny into a more natural seated position. He automatically used the back of his hand to check for fever, a bit displeased about his findings. "How do you feel?" The question was loaded, but Steve had to ask. He needed to know the level of Danny's lucidity.

"How do _I_ feel? Where's the guy" Danny demanded with a question for a question. He looked warily towards the doorway, the area beyond dark and forbidding. He stared there long enough, searching, to miss Steve's pang of concern. "How many are here?"

"How many are here?" Steve parroted back stupidly before he whispered under his breath, just to himself, a fond shake of his head aimed towards his friend. "Ah, Danno. Still buddy, huh?" At least they were on a middle ground now though. One that was better in some regards, then possibly as bad in others. Danny's eyes weren't tracking either, but Steve took some relief because at least their conversation was intelligible.

Most importantly, Danny _knew_ him this time.

Pros and cons; good and bad. There was some improvement, though the line was thin and tenuous. Steve smiled gently when Danny shakily pointed towards his chest, no doubt to the stark whiteness of the bandage which stood out in the dim light. The storm made the air thick and the humidity was high. Where he was feeling the closeness of the heavy tropical air, Danny still shivered from fever and Steve reached down to pick up the towel in order to drape it over Danny's shoulders.

"You're still sick, Danny," Steve explained. "You've got a high fever and you need to take some meds. Can you do that for me?"

"What?" Danny replied. He shook his head, determined and obstinate as he dared to touch the edge of the bandage on Steve's side. "Stop changing the subject."

"I'm fine," he promised, biting back a smile when Danny's face changed to one of disgust. "It's nothing, Danny." He'd forgotten to put on another shirt. He should have remembered to avoid the rabid focus. But how could he have guessed this? Steve chastised himself immediately for the thought as his partner objected.

"Of course you are," Danny said in annoyance. The worry and snark was a natural side-effect of a more regular personality quirk and Steve found that he couldn't fight the ridiculous smile. Ruing that loss at the sound of Danny's coughed out disbelief.

"Are you _smiling_? Why are smiling?" Danny groused as Steve helped him to his feet. "You're an animal. You're hurt ... and you _smile_. I don't understand. I don't get it, Steven."

"I know," Steve chuffed softly as he tucked Danny into his opposite side, making sure that at least the towel stayed around his shoulders. "But it's okay. I promise."

The fever had gone down as he'd hoped. Still, Danny remained out of sorts, shivering and on the cusp of trouble. The night was almost over though as they approached the early morning hours. With continued luck, the storm would abate and he'd have clear sailing to the hospital. Until then, they'd continue on as they'd been.

"Where are we going?" Danny asked as they left the bathroom together. Steve took more comfort in the lack of argument. Danny was all over the map with questions, worry and a confused wariness. But he was pliable and willing to follow his lead.

"I've got medicine for you," Steve replied. He kept it simple, calm and very specific. Hugging Danny closer to him when he heard the mumbled words of confusion about how benevolent their attackers really were, he almost laughed out loud.

"That doesn't make sense, Steven," Danny whispered as they traipsed down the hallway. Completely perturbed, his tone wracked with exasperation. "Bandages? Water? Meds? What kind of bad guys are these?"

It was a lost cause and Steve had to laugh at that and Danny nearly pulled them to an indignant halt, vainly shushing his outburst in case _they might hear_. The same ridiculous smile broadened as he dropped an even stupider kiss on top of the mussed, damp blonde head. "We got lucky this time, Danno. They're the very best kind of bad guy."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	7. Chapter 7

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

_Steve was going to kill him._

He'd gone through all phases of melancholy, dangerous, angry and confused with Danny. But this version was by far the worst and Steve was sure, without the shadow of a doubt, that he'd have to _kill_ his partner if he didn't shut up.

"I'm going to die. Just ... admit it."

"You're not going to die, Danny," Steve said for the umpteenth time. He was gruff and curt after having gone down this particular road far too long in as many minutes. "You're just totally worn out and sick. Lay down and go to sleep. You need your rest. Everything seems five times worse when you don't feel well."

"No, I'm dying," Danny moaned, his face burrowed into Steve's chest. "I am. Just shoot me." His voice was hoarse, muffled and full of misery.

Never questioning why they were in Steve's own house, Danny believed that Steve had taken care of all of their attackers. He didn't ask what Steve might have done to them, and Steve didn't offer any explanations. In short, Danny didn't remember anything more and Steve preferred to keep it that way. He didn't ask about his hand or the bandage on Steve's side, but Steve had prudently put on a t-shirt to prevent that subject from resuming. However, as time wore on and his fever began to rise again, Danny had become fidgety, anxious and only able to catnap on the sofa while the storm persisted outside.

He'd also become incredibly verbose; the theme of his single-minded thread stuck on one relentless and unhealthy subject. Dying.

"Danny, stop it. I'm not going to shoot you," Steve replied distractedly. Yet. He chided himself for the thought before sighing loudly as he checked the time and glanced towards a window. There was no light. Nothing. Nearing five o'clock in the morning and it was still pitch as the darkest night outside. The storm was raging on and reports claimed the ceiling had stalled; the hurricane stubborn in dissipating or moving out to sea. He was anxious to get Danny proper care and on the lip of deciding to chance the trip to the hospital in his truck.

"Please ... just shoot me," Danny's muffled voice begged. "Do it."

"Well," Steve chuffed disgustedly as he forcibly untangled his partner from his body, mindful of the bandaged hand, and wholly softening at the glassy fevered shine of his friend's eyes.

 _Shit, Danny._ Completely distraught about what to do, Steve roughly rubbed his hands over his face. He'd run out of ice an hour earlier; the small plastic baggies he'd forced Danny to agree to were now filled with plain water. If not the hospital, Steve saw another cool dousing in the shower on their near horizon and dreaded the very thought even if Danny remained a bit more on the right side of lucid.

"No. I won't do it, Danny. You're going to be fine."

He was positive that Danny had the flu now; rundown yes, and perhaps the very reason he'd opened himself to being this sick. The symptoms were persistent and more flu-like as he considered them. Still mulling the idea of trying for the hospital despite the obvious danger, Steve growled deeply in his throat as Danny batted at his hands for another _hug_. Whiny and clingy were new and _this Danny_ , he certainly could do without. Those things, added to the negative, mouthy King of Doom, were just too much to contend with. _Shooting him_ seemed like an excellent option to free himself from an overly clingy _Williams-gone-mad-with-fever,_ but Steve fought the illogical urge as Danny re-wrapped his arms around his waist, brushing painfully against the bandaged knife wound.

" _Please_ ," the watery voice murmured, swallowed up by the material of his t-shirt. _"I'm dying anyway."_ He shivered incessantly, voice wracked and broken by sickness, fevered heat leeching into Steve non-stop. Truth be told, the situation remained frightening for the both of them and Steve simply didn't want to dwell on the _'what ifs'_ of his partner's ongoing pleas. Plaintive entreaties that brought with them doubt and so much more fearful indecision.

"No! I am _not_ going to shoot you, Danno!" Steve said adamantly over the top of Danny's head, his hands settling soothingly on his friend's shoulders. They were standing together in the middle of the living room by that point. He'd intercepted Danny's erratic stagger up from the sofa. Unable to explain where he thought he'd be going, he was bereft of his senses, miserable and reluctant to rest.

"Besides, you can't die yet," Steve added as the muffled complaints continued on. _'Though, yeah, maybe I would like to shoot you right about now,'_ he kidded himself silently.

 _"Why ... not?"_ He almost didn't hear the query. And Steve was sure that Danny was just talking to talk now. Based on his tone of voice alone, Steve knew that this endless circle of questions and answers was just going to be that ... endless. He could almost place a sure bet that Danny had stopped listening to him a long time ago.

"Because Charlie needs you," he stated blandly. "You can't die because Charlie needs you. All right? Not to mention Gracie. So let me go, lay the hell down and just shut up. _Please_."

Over-tired and stressed about what he could do next, Steve said it all without thinking and much too blandly, but he was at wits-end. He was wrong, too, because Danny was most certainly listening. In fact, his partner was hanging on to every syllable he uttered. The error of his off-hand comments was immediately apparent as Danny stiffened in his arms.

 _Shit_. What Steve had managed to do with that not-so-simple, raw barrage of words was to open an entirely different can of worms.

"Danny, I didn't mean it that way," he quickly insisted. But the damage had been done and Danny was off and running down a new path of the same, tired road.

" _Charlie_. Oh God, Steve," Danny bemoaned into his chest. "What am I going to do? I can't die now! Charlie ... he needs me. I'm the only one who can fix him. I can't die yet!"

"Daniel! You. Are. _Not_. Going. To. Die! You're _not_!" Steve practically shouted, his moment of empathy briefly fading as Danny escalated all over again. He argued his flare of frustrated temper, appeasing himself with the fact that Danny simply wasn't himself. He was barely in his right mind and so Steve managed to get his voice back under control as Danny stared beseechingly up at him.

"Just ... _please_ , Danno," he said after a steadying breath or two. "Trust me. Things are going to be okay. I'm going to get you to the hospital and they'll fix you up. You'll feel better in no time."

"Are you sure? Suppose they can't ... suppose I'm just too sick?" This time, Danny didn't mention Charlie by name. He let his fear hang right out there in the open and Steve uselessly shook his head, at a loss of what to do or say.

 _God, - sick or not - he was really going to have to kill him after all._ Even if Steve took the full blame for instigating this latest rant; even if he hadn't meant to sound so churlish and insensitive, the King of Doom was back in all its gloomy, melodramatic glory.

"Danno, please," Steve whispered again as he dragged in a lungful of air that bespoke of all his own weary frustrations and silent fears.

_Suppose Danny was right and not exaggerating his fevered demons?_

The heat emanating from his friend's body compounded just how very sick he was - truly sick and incredibly worried about his son. Too many things had been piled up on Danny and still, he forged on to spite himself. The evidence of that very fact was right there in front of both of them and Steve changed gears entirely.

"I'm sorry," Steve apologized softly. "I'm sorry ... I am ... I didn't mean it, Danny." He rubbed circles over Danny's back while he bent his head down to whisper one lasting promise in his ear. A promise that Steve took very seriously and which was whispered in its absolute truth. "I know that you're not going to die because I'm not going to let you. I'd never let you."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	8. Chapter 8

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

The diffused sparkle of sunlight woke Danny from a sound sleep as it wafted across his face. The light came and went through the window, controlled by remnants of thick, black storm clouds and affected by the shrubbery which was still being buffeted by high winds. Behind it all lay a bright blue sky. Every so often, the light was bright enough to hurt his eyes but it was a very welcome change. He lay on his back on the sofa with his eyes partly opened, blankets half on as the other half puddled to the floor. He listened for a moment, only hearing the wind which gusted outside. No rain or thunder though. Nothing except the wind and the few limbs of trees which continued to slap and scatter into the side of the house.

A glance to his right confirmed that Steve was sleeping in his leather side chair, blanket up to his chin and completely out for the count in a more darkened corner of the room. Squirreling up his low reserves of energy, Danny pushed the rest of the blankets to the floor. He'd slept longer than he had in a while, yet it never seemed to be enough. Not feeling up to par, but determined to let Steve sleep, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom still weak and off-balance. Without too much initial thought, he kicked his way through a pile of towels towards the sink before closing the door. He toed another one or two towels under the sink to avoid tripping while he rested his injured hand on the basin's edge and studied his face.

He looked the way he felt; sick. Exhausted. Dark smudges ruined his eyes. And he needed a shave. _Badly_. But he was distracted by the deep ache in his bandaged palm as he made a half-hearted and one-handed attempt of at least washing his face. Tiny memories pestered his mind. The same, small untidy snippets were the same old glimmers which he'd had once before. More like ruined black and white newspaper cuttings, they really meant nothing. They wouldn't ever mean anything even if he could splice them back together.

_Cold, barren tile. Water ... and a struggle. A fight ... then ... Steve._

Danny swallowed hard and shook his head, water dripping down his face. The memories were more feelings than anything tangible. A breeze tickled his left shoulder and he shivered, suddenly cold. It blew in from the window which had been left open a few inches. A frown slowly marred his originally much calmer expression. A weird sense of déjà vu made him really try to look at his reflection in the mirror - really _see_ what he'd been missing. It was then that he stared beyond his own image into the shower stall itself, his eyes considering the pile of damp towels. He had only half registered them at first, completely discounting the reason for their existence. Only now though did he bother to think about what it all could mean.

"Steve?" He whispered, his head cocked in consternation as he considered one glimpse into a possible past. He turned to face the shower stall after a few minutes, staring harder at the pile of towels as if they held some sort of secret, his frown deepening at a feeling which rankled his calm and made him wonder even more. That feeling of déjà vu grew stronger and yet, he couldn't quite put his finger on what was beginning to bother him so very much. The ghost of a voice teased him and if he tried hard enough, that voice almost sounded like Steve talking to him. A voice that was full of apology, nonetheless unrelenting and determined.

_'I wish ...'_

The memory stopped dead right there. _I wish._ I wish ... _what_? Danny blinked rapidly at the echo in his head, but couldn't discount it because Steve's voice was stuck in his head. His mind couldn't play such a trick on him as that. Could it? He sucked in a breath of air to clear his head before blowing it out through his mouth long and loud. No, he had to be wrong; there was no way that those two words had been said in Steve's voice. He'd been sick, but surely not that sick. With his one good hand, Danny scrubbed at his face until his vision blackened while he replayed the two syllables over and over.

 _'I wish ...'_ He couldn't escape this particular feeling though. He'd heard Steve's voice and one of his last, more coherent moments hadn't been in some obscure room somewhere. It had been here ... in this exact bathroom ... and on the ... _floor_.

"Shit," Danny whispered as he gauged the dry towels which he'd kicked out of the way. He didn't remember. In fact, the conclusion he was coming to was downright frightening for someone who couldn't remember a great many of the last few hours. Nonetheless, his budding theory absolutely made sense in every possible way. Cursing under his breath with every step he took, Danny left the bathroom for the kitchen. He was on edge now, off guard and fighting to reconcile the remainder of his vague story. But what he first saw, stopped him in his tracks with a shock he hadn't anticipated feeling.

"No way. It's not true," Danny muttered as he stared dumbly at the knife. If he'd needed a missing link or the proverbial smoking gun, he'd just discovered it. The knife had his name written all over it and it tied all of his mental loose ends together with a painful snap.

The steak knife was still on the kitchen table where Steve had tossed it. He hadn't had the time to clean the bathroom or the kitchen from their inconceivably wild night. So the knife lay there, its point looking sullied by dried blood, seemingly waiting for Danny to simply pick it up again. He was drawn to it with a sickly unease, his fingers almost sneaking out to stroke the handle before he hefted it into his right hand.

It was familiar in all the wrong ways. Confused, yet very pensive, Danny poised the sharp tip on the edge of his bandaged hand and slowly twirled the hilt while he forced himself to think.

Untouchable shadows and threats taunted him. Things without substance. Lost in thought as more and more uneasy feelings toyed with his subconscious, his eyes fell to the floor by the corner of the cabinets where he could quite easily see the few droplets and smears of dried blood. What he thought he could recall didn't make sense and he knew it never would. His fever had been high and he'd apparently been hallucinating.

"What the hell did I do?" Danny mumbled softly. He sniggered then, the sarcastic sound irritating his throat to make him cough. It bespoke of his embarrassment because this theory didn't need a decorated _detective_ for any kind of validation. A rookie could figure it out. Hell. Even a fourth-grader could read the writing on the wall.

He remembered the sensation of being watched. Of a threat and being on guard. He remembered _wanting to wake up_ and ... hurting himself to prove that he was ... _awake_. But Steve. There was never anyone in the house and that fact left only one credible explanation for his partner's knife wound.

"That did _not_ happen," he whispered under his breath wanting to deny what he knew to be the truth. Even as he argued his own case out loud, Danny knew it was true - all of it. "I couldn't have stabbed him." He rapped the flat cheek of the knife gently against his bandaged palm, confused as he battled the evidence with what he couldn't quite remember. The tapping worsened the ache in his palm and the knife blurred as he zoned out and tried to come up with other possible options. But there weren't any and his alarm grew as the one and only answer percolated to the top time and again.

He'd attacked his best friend. With a knife.

There hadn't been a threat at all. He had been in Steve's house the entire time ... with Steve. No one else had ever been there. And if someone else had been there, where were they now? Why was there no evidence of that?

"You're a fool, Williams," Danny chastised himself angrily. "What the hell did you do?"

"Danny?" Steve's voice cut through his reverie. Though the tone was low and cautious, Danny still jolted as if he'd been electrocuted.

"What!" Eyes wide, he whirled around, his balance an issue as a sickly vertigo got the better of him. " _God_ ... Steve!" He bobbled the knife before saving it from a fall, his fingers grasping the handle firmly.

"You okay? What are you doing?" Steve asked. He'd woken up and immediately gone looking for his friend. Finding him in the kitchen was one thing. That would have been fine if not for what he was holding in his hand and Steve groaned softly for what he should have taken care of hours earlier.

"You want to put that down, buddy?" His eyes were as wary as his careful words, while his hands slowly came up. Palms up, fingers splayed wide.

Danny took it all in. More clues to corroborate his conclusion. Making matter worse, it was Steve's stance which provided Danny with all the remaining proof he might ever need. He'd done it. He'd done all of it. There never had been an attack and no one had ever been inside Steve's house. Fractured beliefs were completely nullified as Steve seemingly prepared for a fight; round two of a fight where he'd been the attacker and Danny's shoulders sagged forlornly.

"I did do it then," Danny stated. His tone was flat, emotionless. On the inside though, his gut was churning. "There was never anybody here. Just me ... and you."

"You did," Steve replied soothingly. "But it's okay now. Everything's fine."

"Fine? There was _never_ anybody here, Steven. I could have killed you!" Danny said. He'd forgotten about the knife as he talked, his fingers wrapped around the handle as he tapped its side erratically into his palm. He almost liked the pain he was causing himself; it was helping keep him grounded as he glared at the outline of the bandage under his friend's t-shirt. The feelings were right, muddled as they were because his fiction was founded in some decent bits of factoid.

"Nothing about what I thought ... or what I did is fine!" Now upset for something he knew he'd never remember completely, but which was now easily substantiated by all the evidence at his disposal, Danny barked out a cutting laugh. "I could have _killed_ you," he repeated inanely.

"Never happen," Steve argued gently as he entered the kitchen to stand directly in front of his friend. "You were sick, Danny. Out of your head with fever and convinced that I was someone else. You got in a lucky shot." He was watching Danny like a hawk, his own unease growing as Danny's emotions came to the fore. Gauging awareness and mood, Steve was sure that his partner was indeed coherent. However, he didn't like the knife. Not one bit and he couldn't prevent himself from glancing towards it.

"A lucky shot?" Danny said incredulously as he followed Steve's eyes for the split second they dropped to his hand and he laughed again, loud and choked. "That's why you're so freaked out now, right? Because I got in a lucky shot whenever the hell this happened?"

"You hurt yourself first," Steve replied matter of factly. "That scared me more than anything if you want to know the whole truth." He shrugged and smiled, his hands held out wide before he covered Danny's with them. "So yeah ... I'm a bit freaked out now because I don't want you to hurt yourself again, Danno."

"The hell with me," Danny argued back. "I hurt _you_ , okay?"

Steve shrugged again as he gently replaced Danny's fingers with his own around the knife. He took the one time weapon away, only to put it in the sink, one hand still firmly planted on Danny's wrist. "It's just a scratch, Danno," Steve said. "It wasn't your fault."

"Fault? Of course it was." Danny shook his head to disagree, wanting to argue more but knowing it was a lost cause. He failed at disengaging his wrist too from Steve's grip. He was disturbed on so many levels, he didn't know where to land with his feelings or his thoughts. But it was Steve who closed that loop, too. His reasoning was so very valid, that it left Danny with no where to go and no need to complain.

"You were sick Danny and I don't blame you. Not one bit," Steve began simply. "And before you ask ... as far as that shower goes ... I had to get your temperature down and that was the only way I could do it. You didn't much approve at the time, but it worked well enough."

There was an embarrassing memory of being _touched_ and of another struggle. Some argument or other where he thought he might be drowned or ... _touched_ ... of _fingers running through his hair._ Steve had done all of that and on one level it didn't matter that it was because he'd been so damnably sick. He glanced down at the new pair of over-sized sweatpants and reddened even more. They were different and he hadn't noticed.

"Seriously, Steven?" Danny mumbled self-consciously as he yanked his wrist from Steve's hand, unable to look him directly in the eye. "Is nothing sacred? My ... pants?" Evidently nothing had been off limits during the height of his fever. _Shit_. Cradling his bandaged hand to his chest as an excuse, Danny brushed past his friend to escape to the supposed sanctity of his sofa.

"Yup, you left me no choice, Danno, Steve replied, one side of his mouth lifting into an easy grin. "They did get a little ... _wet_."

The back-handed innuendo wasn't at all lost on his friend. "I hate you so much right now," Danny moaned as he sank into his corner of the sofa, Steve hot on his heels, his amusement now plastered over his face. "None of this leaves this house. Ever."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	9. Chapter 9

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Even though the storm had cleared, in the end, they almost decided not to leave the house at all. _Almost_. At first, Danny's initial argument that he felt better, fell flat no matter how hard he tried to convince himself of the lie. Steve blatantly disagreed until met with Danny's second point that any emergency room would be chock full of true emergency related victims. That fact did give him due pause. A fever or flu hardly constituted an emergency and truth be told, neither wanted to be bothered with a wait that could literally take hours.

"We could get sucked into working, too," Danny added, completely relieved that Steve was reluctantly concurring. He slapped his friend's hand away though as it came too close to his forehead. He didn't feel better and he could imagine what he looked like. Haggard, tired and no doubt very much like a convalescent. Lying on a sofa under a blanket didn't do much for making a stand and his palm continued to ache beneath its bandage, but Danny dug in.

"All the nuts come out ... I'm just not up to dealing with it. But ...," his finger came up warningly as he remembered that he hadn't actually seen Steve's injury. With that one move, he began to negate each and every one of his own previous arguments. "How bad is that _scratch_ ... exactly? Do you need stitches? Are your ... insides ... still _in_?"

Steve raised a comical eyebrow at the glib question. He'd nearly bought in on all of Danny's arguments; each of which were sound. He certainly didn't want to deal with an ER overrun by real storm-related victims or be subjected to the potential crazies who might have thought a grand time to be had by the power outages. However, they both needed medical attention and a dutiful round of antibiotics for their dual wounds. And he, for one, could likely accommodate a few stitches.

"Okay, Danno," Steve remarked while tugging the blanket from his friend's legs. They were fooling themselves and they both well knew it as Danny moaned his failed objections. "Let's go ... get dressed. Either the ER or we call our over-eager medical examiner for a favor. But to be fair, asking Bergman - or anyone - to drive out here after the storm we've had isn't right. I can only imagine what the roads are going to be like so let's just get this over with."

"Is that your way of saying that your innards _are_ falling out?" Danny griped miserably as he allowed Steve to pull him to his feet.

"Nope," Steve laughed lightly. "I think for once though, we'd better suck it up and get checked out. Why delay the inevitable?"

"Since when were you ever the voice of reason?" Danny said suspiciously. He lifted the hem of Steve's shirt and poked gently at the bandage, a spot of dried blood just evident towards the middle. "You do need stitches don't you?"

"It's worth a look-see," Steve replied, grimacing at Danny's instant apologetic expression. "Enough! I said it's not a big deal ... and I meant it!"

"Fine," Danny said. He wasn't at all happy about what had gone on over the last many hours. Faulty memory and limited information did little to make him feel better; plus he was borderline embarrassed for the few actions he could recall.

"You know, Steve. I am really ..." Danny started up again, a wry shake of his head forestalled by his partner's overly dramatic sigh.

"No!" Steve admonished him. "Enough with the apologies too. Seriously!"

"Fine," Danny said reluctantly.

"Fine!" Steve laughed as he pushed his friend towards the bathroom. "Freshen up ... change ... do whatever it is that you ... _do_ and let's get out of here!"

The forty-five minute trip to the hospital took them nearly an hour and half. Detours, flooded out roads and downed everything - from trees to power lines - had them constantly renegotiating their trip. By the time they arrived, both were on the exact same page of throwing in the towel and returning home. But then, they had gone that far, so why change course now?

"We should've stayed home," Danny complained as he sat slouched in a chair in the waiting room. They'd been there an hour and had yet to be seen. "They can't do anything for the flu anyway."

"Hand," Steve amended quietly as he tapped the sagging bandage he'd put on Danny's injured palm. "We both need to be looked at; antibiotics. But I told you that we should have pulled rank," he said. "We'd been in and done by now."

"Oh and excuse me?" Danny instantly objected the idea of using their Five-0 status to jump the queue. "Bump the old woman who tripped over her cat? Or maybe the kid with the busted arm? Or, I know ... how about the pregnant woman?"

Thirty minutes later though, with a druggie's forearm levered against the back of his neck hard enough to slam his head into an exam room wall, Danny was ruing his sarcasm and wishing he'd allowed Steve his druthers. "Would've been home by now," he muttered disgustedly to himself, wincing not only from the painful pull in his right shoulder, but the goose egg-sized bruise he could literally feel growing on his temple.

"Totally, should have been home by now."

His injured left hand, newly bandaged, was braced against the wall just an inch from his own nose. The doctor he'd seen had assured him that he was over the worst of his sickness and that he'd be fine for his son's upcoming tests. On his docket was a simple plan of rest and hydration; advice to speak to Charlie's doctors as a final sanity check. But other than that, the feedback had been wholly calming.

Now stitched and bandaged, antibiotics in hand, they were both done and on their way out. They'd been on their way _home_ until someone else in the waiting room had lost his patience. Gun in hand and years of drug abuse telling in his eyes, the older man had sent everyone scattering. Everyone except for him and Steve.

"Crazies," Danny mumbled virtually into the wall. "We were so close ... I just want to go home."

Behind him, he knew Steve was incredibly close, he just didn't know precisely where he was. There was only one good reason why his friend hadn't acted, too. Steve wasn't likely to do a blessed thing with the six year old boy sitting right there out in the open. A little dark-haired boy who'd been so bravely waiting for his arm to be cared for in the hubbub of the overly crowded emergency room.

Perched on the edge of a gurney as he waited his turn, not so much as a tear had been shed, though his eyes were shiny and frightened. But now, the little guy had been inconceivably stranded alone where he sat, people having scattered at the onset of the unprovoked attack. Suspected broken arm cradled in his lap, eyes as big as saucers and bravery soon to be damned, Danny's resolve was shattered as the tell-tale sign of a watery sniffle reached his ears.

"Steve," he calmly called over his shoulder. " _Steven_."

He'd had enough and the child's fear was the absolute last straw. He didn't feel well, wanted to go home and the sniffles from the little boy had begun to get louder. It only made him think of Charlie and his temper flared. Growling angrily, Danny helplessly tried to push off the wall, failing when his drug-addled, sweaty and desperate attacker leaned into him, torquing the bend on his shoulder even more. The muzzle of the gun he held now embedded into Danny's hairline, the tremor of his hand obvious as he toyed with the trigger.

"Shut ... up," the man said, his voice quaking in Danny's ear. " _Shut up_ ... or I'll rip your arm off! I want ... my _stuff_ ... tell them ... to bring it!"

There was a noise then. So soft that Danny was positive that only he'd heard it. Despite the heavy nasal breathing of the man who so rudely invaded his space, Danny clearly heard Steve. It could have been the subtle sound of an inhale, or maybe it wasn't a sound at all, more of a feeling. It didn't matter either way, because Danny simply knew where Steve was then. Danny's head was turned to the left, but he knew that Steve was there, just a few feet off to the right. Behind one of the blue privacy curtains. So close. Incredibly close and absolutely ready for Danny to do something.

Peering downwards as best as possible, Danny eyed the bare toes of the slippah-wearing man. Step one was rudimentary at best, but sometimes the most simple of things was all that was needed. He closed his eyes at the same time he softened his knees as a bit of a test because what he was going to do in steps two and three would undoubtedly hurt. He'd almost certainly have a bruise on the back of his head to match the one on his temple. The druggie's arm shifted as he sagged a bit, loosening its tight grip and giving Danny a bit more room to maneuver. The muzzle of the gun also lost contact with his head as Danny's small change in posture disrupted the man's unsteady grip.

A definite plus there, too.

If he timed it all correctly, there was no doubt that he'd be sending the druggie backwards a good two or three feet - four if he got his aim precisely right - directly back into Steve's waiting arms. The gun was the issue; there was always a gun and Danny winced again as too many other bad outcomes raced through his mind.

There was a second inhale then, one that almost communicated a bit of concern for the split-second delay and Danny simply reacted. His left foot came up to crunch mercilessly down into the druggie's exposed toes. Barely a pained gasp made it from the man's lips and Danny was already exploding backwards, his head rocketing into the soft cartilage of the broad nose and an elbow neatly colliding with the burly chest.

Danny didn't wait to see what Steve had planned after that. His final goal was clear: the six year old boy.

"Hey, little man," Danny said as he carefully plucked the child from the gurney and made for the closest, protected corner. "Let's just go over here for a minute so the big bad Navy SEAL can play a game. Huh?" His head was swimming dizzily with the delayed reaction of having collided now backwards with that of the drug dealer. Fore and aft he was achy and utterly displeased by his ongoing physical woes, but he smiled reassuringly as the boy wrapped his one good arm around his neck.

Noise clattered around them, trays fell and a gurney may have toppled over, but nary a gunshot was heard and for that, Danny was utterly relieved. As sniffles drowned in his chest, Danny soothed and murmured calmly to his small charge. The entire time, he stayed in that corner, his body bowed protectively around the boy, until he felt Steve's hand on his back. His clue that all was finally right with the world.

"Nicely done," Steve murmured quietly as Danny turned to face him, slumping into a seated position, the child now tucked into his chest. From the little boy's ongoing frightened expression to his partner's pale complexion, neither looked particularly interested in moving. So Steve hunkered down lower, his hand just shy of his own recently stitched wound.

"Are you two okay?"

"I think so. You?" Danny asked, impressed that the sniffles hadn't turned into a show of tears, justified as that would have been. He looked at Steve's side, rolling his eyes skywards at the shrug which meant Steve was also generally unscathed before he gently shifted the boy in his lap, mindful of the child's injured arm. "Hey? You're so, _so_ brave ... are you okay? Is your arm okay?"

The boy nodded, his eyes still just as big as he looked trustingly from Danny to Steve. With his bad arm still held tightly to his side, he patted Danny's shoulder to ask one very important question. "Are you super heroes?"

"Steven," Danny instantly warned his friend as the jaw-dropping grin split Steve's face wide. He had visions of any number of wise remarks falling from Steve's lips, including a comment or two about a particular red cape from Halloween's past.

"Oh come on, Danno," Steve gushed warmly as he rescued the child from his partner's lap. "It's a reasonable question." He stood and passed the boy to the closest doctor before helping Danny to his feet. Then he stopped and made his friend sit one final time to make sure that he wasn't the worse for wear, the small purpling bruise on Danny's temple not something else he'd needed added to his list of troubles.

"I'm fine," Danny argued as he batted Steve's hands away from his face, only staying still for the few minutes it took a second doctor to concur. "It's a tiny bruise is all ... if your innards are still _in_ ... can we please ... please go home now?"

"Yes, Danno. Everything is still where it's supposed to be," Steve said as he draped his arm companionably over Danny's shoulders. "Home sounds good to me."

As they left the ER, he followed Danny's gaze towards the little boy who was now sitting with his parents, surrounded by well-meaning doctors and nurses. They'd already been forgotten as the boy prattled on about how his arm had been broken at home.

"I need to make a few calls," Danny said softly, a mild unease teasing his subconscious. He knew both Grace and Charlie were fine, but he needed to really know for sure. He needed to hear their voices and he said as much. "See how they managed through this ... make sure things are okay."

"I'm sure they're all okay, but yeah, you need to call. Power might still be an issue, but lets give it a try." Steve nodded in agreement, his smile entirely reassuring as they left together for the truck. "We can drive over if you're worried, too. But Danny, the important thing is ... is that you'll be there for him. You will and it'll all be okay."

"Thanks," Danny said as he got settled in the truck. "Really ... thanks, Steve." There wasn't really much else he could say as he watched Steve from the passenger seat. It was hard for him to stop saying how sorry he was for what he'd done. Steve continually refused any apologies and was generally content no matter how Danny tried to slice and dice what had happened over the last many hours. So a simple round of thanks seemed like the next best option.

But then Steve barely needed the thanks as he smiled Danny's way, the wide and happy grin clearly enough.

_**~ END ~** _


End file.
